Lucis
by C. L. LaCroix
Summary: His garnet eyes glazed to a softer hue, his lilt equally serene as he spoke, "You need only to ask... I swear not by the moon - the inconsistent moon - but by something I certainly will perish without." Sebastian/OC
1. Who Killed the Cock Robin?

**_Welcome to Phantasmagoric Theatre_**

_Hello. Thank you for clicking this approximately 500-worded prologue. Yes, this is a Sebastian/OC story. I can never seem to find a story of satisfaction, save for a few incomplete ones. Since this is a prologue jumbled with flashbacks, it will make little sense. Despite that, I hope you will give this a try. _

_I have already finished the first chapter, but I will not release it until I am finished with at least the third chapter._

_**Tell me your thoughts. Please review. **  
_

_**Disclaimer:** _Lecila does not own any distinguishable characters from the anime/manga known as _Black Butler_. She also does not own the poem "_Who Killed the Cock Robin_."

* * *

_**Who killed the Cock Robin?**_

_ Far too many to count, and far too great to forgive. And I am ashamed and regretful to have ever taken part in any of the sinful things that happened. As I write this, I know it to be too late to seek redemption for all the lives lost. However, I hope to at least give them peace by honoring their memory._

_ No one else will have to die. _

_**"I," said the Sparrow, "with my bow and arrow, I killed the Cock Robin."**_

_Forgive me._

One bullet. One shot. _One chance. _

It would save him. _It will save him._

Garnet eyes widened as the tip of the revolver slowly turned towards the direction of its owner.

A single shot resonated.

"_Cecilia!"_

_**Who saw him die?**_

"You're exactly like him, you know?" she commented beside him. "Albeit," she continued with slight humour lacing her words, "much _darker_."

His one visible crystal eye turned towards the lake's still water. He threw a rock in, sending ripples. And then, he smiled.

"Yes," he said softly, closing his eyes. "I… I suppose I am."

Finally. _Peace._

_**"I," said the Fly, "With my little eye, I saw him die."**_

The lace of his eye-cover loosened, but he could do no more than stare.

"No, no, _no_!" he yelled in outrage. His voice cracked, but he did not care. _He did not care._ "Bring her back!_ I_ _command you to bring her back!"_

_**Who will carry the link? **_

"Oh, darling, you're here. Would you like some?"

"What is this?" he grinned. "A garden party? Am I not invited? How cruel! And I thought we were the dearest of friends."

"Don't be absurd. Come, sit beside me."

_**"I," said the Linnet, "I'll fetch it in a minute. I'll carry the link."**_

And for once, the grin was not on his face.

Blank, it remained.

"_Tell me a joke_," he chortled, brandishing his weapon with obvious expertise. "Perhaps I'll consider sparing you."

_**Who will be chief mourner? **_

"Oh yes, you're very charming. I find myself in danger of being enamored by your dashing, good looks."

He scoffed as he rolled his eyes. "You've used that same exact line in different occasions whilst I was in your presence."

"If only you are not such an insufferable arse," she sighed, "then perhaps my love would transfer from that lovely, red-headed male."

_**"I," said the Dove, "I mourn for my love. I'll be chief mourner."**_

"You truly have forsaken me," he whispered bitterly. "What more could you possibly take from me?"

It is an absolute truth acknowledged universally that emotions are the most dangerous of incentives. With greed, there is planning – careful, obscure, _according to plan_. With love, there is spontaneity – rash, _unpredictable_.

_**All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,**_

_** When they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin. **_


	2. Clock Works

**_Welcome to Phantasmagoric Theatre._**

_I decided to post this early. Anyways, I do hope that you will enjoy and consider reviewing . Support would be much appreciated, and any sort of criticism would help. If you hate the OC or anything, just tell me and I'll try to make her more likable. If anyone's OOC, tell me. Or... if you just want to say hi, you can do that, too. C:_

_I wanted to make a new fan fiction to try out a new pace. Improvisations (Ouran) had a much... well, it was slow. So this is a sort of experiment. I actually am planning to finish this sooner than Improv. _

_Big thanks to** Kevin** for being an awesome editor. _

_**Author's Note:** I do not own Black Butler. _

* * *

"It seems that we will have to visit the town for today's business."

_The Phantomhive Estate_. Known for its notorious history of harboring the long line of the aristocratic Phantomhive blood, the Phantomhive Estate showed the glory of its well-endowed family. For generations, it has sheltered the heads of refined gentlemen since the high success of their profession. However, just as they were famous for their money in the business world, the Phantomhive name was well renowned for the horrible yet inevitable deaths that accompanied the heirs.

It was, indeed, unfortunate, that the original Phantomhive Estate burnt to the ground, and with it, the lives of Earl Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive.

Earl Ciel Phantomhive's light blue iris was revealed as he was once again brought to the reality of the moment. Cold was his stare – and even with only one eye visible, it could not have been any more intimidating. Regardless of being dismissed as a mere child at first glance, Earl Ciel Phantomhive was, indeed, worthy of his title.

After all, he was the best at his profession.

"Shall I prepare the carriage, Master?"

Head butler of the Phantomhive Estate, Sebastian Michaelis. A truly notable man of many talents, a Jack of all trades, as almost all would say. However, even the best of the best kept skeletons deep within the closet. And, in Head Butler Michaelis' case, he had catacombs filled with them.

"Yes, do," Ciel dismissed offhandedly as he lined a stack of papers together against the polished, wooden surface of his writing desk. He took a quick glance at the piece of paper, covered with neat scrawls of black ink. He had read it before, but there was no harm in refreshing the memory. He must be prepared.

"Excuse me, Master," Sebastian politely intervened, bowing as he balanced a light-weight, silver tray on his right hand, "but an urgent telegram recently made its way to the Phantomhive Estate by the use of the Morse Code. As I understand it, the information is vital to the business that My Lordship is handling."

"Give it here, then," was Ciel's cool, calm reply. He placed the thin stack of papers beside his half-empty cup of Earl Grey, which has long since turned lukewarm. Sebastian dutifully walked beside his master's desk and lowered the silver tray, allowing Ciel to take the folded piece of paper from its center.

Unfolding the small parchment, Ciel read diligently.

Tucking the tray right beneath his arm, Sebastian bowed once again, his right hand lightly touching his breast, before swiftly turning on his heel and making his way toward the exit with confident strides.

"Sebastian," Ciel called commandingly, folding the paper once more and placing it on the desk. Crossing his legs, he folded his hands right above his knee before saying, "Call off the tea and send for the carriage immediately. An urgent business has been call upon my attention."

From where he stood, Sebastian Michaelis turned once again toward his master, his posture straight, and his garnet eyes flashed as he stared curiously upon Lord Ciel. "May I inquire as to where it is we are headed?"

Ciel's one blue eye regarded Sebastian with a cool stare.

"The Undertaker's," he said.

* * *

It was only a matter of minutes before Earl Phantomhive and his Butler found themselves standing in front of the eerie dwelling of his main, very queer, informant, the Undertaker. Ciel had ceased to be bothered by the rather morbid display of the morgue due to his constant visits. However, it did not stop the uncomfortable churning in the pit of his stomach. Depending on how many bodies arrived, the odour of the entire room may change from neutral to downright revolting. The young Earl just hoped that today, the Undertaker did not have so many "customers."

"Shall we go in, My Lord?" Sebastian inquired with a seemingly polite smile, his eyes closed, as he held the ornate, dark door of the funeral parlor open for his master to enter.

Inhaling the last of London's polluted air, Ciel prepared himself, for he knew that he would most likely be breathing in the cool, stale air of the Undertaker's place for an immeasurable amount of time – that is, depending on whether or not the Undertaker was willing to cooperate. And then, he entered.

Unlike all of the usual times of his visit, the Undertaker was not hiding inside one of his coffins. In fact, his attitude suggested that he was rather distraught about something. No longer able to hold his breath, Ciel inhaled and was slightly surprise – the air, for once, seemed normal.

Upon seeing his arrival, the Undertaker's mouth stretched into a wide, unrestrained grin. He stood up from where he sat perched on a closed coffin and tapped his hands, which were hidden beneath his long sleeves, rhythmically against one another as would an excited child.

"Earl Phantomhive," he cackled madly, his wide grin unfaltering, "What brings your lovely self here unto my humble abode? Are you finally ready for me to take your coffin measurements? Or perhaps you're in some sort of trouble?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Ciel rebutted primly, bringing his ornate cane at a halt beside him as he stopped walking. Without any proper incentive from his acquaintance, the Earl stiffly made himself comfortable atop one of the sturdiest of the coffins. He knew that this little sojourn would take a while to finish.

"I see it doesn't take long for the Queen's loyal Watchdog to have hints at what's going on," the Undertaker said, albeit a bit darkly, despite his large grin.

Ciel brushed off the comment. "Naturally."

"So tell me what you want to know," said the Undertaker, his tone already taking a much lighter note as his long, pale fingers grabbed at a small jar and started gripping around for one of those bone-shaped cookies he's barely seen without. "No payment required for this one, Earl," he continued as he chewed a good chunk of his snack, much to Ciel's slight repulsion at his lack of etiquette mannerism, "You see, all this commotion about stealing the dead is doing horribly for my business. Tiresome, indeed."

"Sebastian," he commanded.

The head Butler instantly conjured up a folded parchment from the inside pocket of his black trench coat. Quickly unfolding it, he then handed it over to the funeral director, who took it from him in turn. Curiously enough, his long, black nails did not at all seem to hinder his ability to grab items with such ease.

"On the front lists the names of adolescents between the ages of approximately ten to eighteen that are confirmed to have been kidnapped or missing for the past two weeks," he explained without missing a single beat, "As you may have noticed, the kidnappings have unexplainably been halted to an indefinite period of hiatus. However, in turn, the disappearances seemed to have started with corpses."

"So it says," said the Undertaker as he took a quick glance at the paper. "What makes you think the missing children and the stolen dead bodies are connected?"

"The fact that the children and the bodies went missing at the same time were enough to raise suspicion," Sebastian continued, "However, it was only confirmed when My Lord discovered that all of the children were diagnosed with a sort of sickness. Seeing as all of them were either orphaned or raised by low-class families, we were not able to interview any medical help. However, it was confirmed that all of the dead bodies experienced the same symptoms of the sickness shortly before they died."

The grin on the Undertaker's face stayed in place. "That makes sense. You already seem to know a lot. I'm starting to doubt my usefulness in this situation," he said dramatically, letting off a sigh of mock-sorrow.

"One of the bodies must have slipped through here before the snatcher got to it," said Ciel. His steely gaze intensifying, he continued, "I want you to tell us if there was anything out of sorts when you preformed the post-mortem autopsy."

The Undertaker seemed deep in thought for that moment, tapping the long, black nail of his index finger just below his chin. Ciel did not know whether the expression of thoughtfulness was serene or exaggerated. He suspected it to be the latter. However, he did nothing to push the Undertaker for answers. As he had learned in all of his previous encounters with the Undertaker, the man simply worked by his own pace.

"Well, appearance-wise, nothing was particularly out of the ordinary," he finally admitted. His voice suddenly became much too solemn as he spoke. "However, the amount of blood within his system was simply unnatural."

"What do you mean? Was the sickness killing their blood cells? Perhaps, feeding off of it?"

"On the contrary," said the Undertaker as he shook his head, "whatever the illness was caused an overwhelming amount of excess blood to be produced within their bodies. That was not the cause of death, but had things been going on the way it has, it would have, eventually."

Ciel's one visible blue eye hardened as he regarded the Undertaker with pure solemnity. "Then you know what killed them."

The Undertaker nodded, the grin never once faltering from his face. However, the inhabitants of the room were able to feel the sudden seriousness and tension within the enclosed space. "I do, indeed," said he, clasping his hands together and resting his chin upon it. "In all of my time as a mortician, I have never witnessed anything so bizarre. Quite interesting, really. I suppose that the artists of our time are finally emerging," he said with a light shrug, suddenly reminded of the rather "creative" style of Jack the Ripper.

"Well? What is it?" Ciel said, losing a bit of his patience. He had no time to be dilly-dallying.

The Undertaker cackled madly. "Oh, Lord Earl, you simply _must_ control your temper," he mock-chastised, wagging a finger in his general direction.

The Earl clenched his teeth, his one blue eyes flashing, but did not say anything else.

The funeral director once again cackled loudly before continuing, his tone sobering. For the first time since their encounter, the Undertaker's large grin slipped, only to be replaced by a serene look of thoughtfulness. "Yes, quite interesting, indeed," he drifted off. His voice suddenly became stronger and a smile once again grew on his lips, "I do not have the proper equipment to study the blood with such details, but I knew enough about it to know that the newly-produced cells have, indeed, been tampered with. Why, I'd go as far as saying that it was the sole reason for the rotting of the corpse's innards."

Ciel's eyes narrowed. It seemed that he was dealing with a much bigger opponent on this particular game.

"Yes, you heard me correctly, dear Earl," the Undertaker cackled darkly, "the death was caused by premature rotting of the innards."

Earl Ciel Phantomhive was not the sort of child to feel pity for the dead. In fact, during times, he saw it better for them to be dead. With no more of the world's unexpected sufferings, one may finally rest. However, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the poor bastard that had to endure such horrid pain during life.

"The only thing I can confirm for certain about the blood is the unusual amount of unhealthy toxins. It tampered a bit with the blood's usual crimson color – not a very pretty sight, I must admit," he said with a chuckle.

"Do you have a sample of the blood?" said Ciel, his voice regaining cool.

"Unfortunately, no. His body should have been carried off to Abney Park Cemetery-"

Earl Phantomhive prepared to stand and addressed his competent butler. "Sebastian, that's where we're headed next."

"-had his body not already been stolen from my parlor."

Ciel narrowed his eyes, reluctantly returning to his seat. Internally, he cursed. Had he been a few days earlier, would he have received something different? Perhaps, a less vague answer concerning the culprit?

Seeing the scowl twist upon the Earl's face, the Undertaker cackled. Calming down a bit, he then commented, "Quite an expense to be buried on the grounds of Magnificent Seven for a child bred from lower class."

"What do you mean the body's been stolen?"

"Exactly what I said," the Undertaker shrugged offhandedly, plucking a biscuit from the jar's opening and plopping it in his open mouth. "As I left the funeral parlor, your snatcher took to great lengths just to retrieve the body. Mind, he didn't take anything else."

Ciel sighed. "Damn it. At the moment, that's the only legitimate lead we have that would bring us closer to the truth. It'll take forever tracking and interviewing their relatives."

"Have you inquired about this ickle situation with Scotland Yard?" said the Undertaker, shoving the last bits of the bone-shaped cookie in his mouth.

"As always, they were not reliable," was the Earl's cold reply, "The fools could hardly sniff the right scent."

Earl Phantomhive stood up from his seat at the coffin and turned on his heel towards the door. "Sebastian," he said, "we're leaving."

The Head Butler, looking nonplused by his master's indifferent tone of voice, simply placed his gloved hand on his chest and regarded the Undertaker with a small, polished smile of his own, "We thank you for your time. You have been a great help, indeed."

"Oh yes, yes, of course," the Undertaker dismissed, keeping at his position on the wooden coffin and crossing his legs. "Wait, on second thought," he suddenly intervened before Sebastian could so much as open the door for Ciel, "if you want information regarding the blood, I might know the perfect person to help you with that."

Ciel turned his head slightly and regarded the Undertaker with a mixture of indifference on his face and yet curiosity in his one visible eye. "Oh?"

The mortician chuckled before grabbing a convenient fountain pen from a nearby desk and scrawling an address on its once blank surface. He handed it to Sebastian, whose garnet eyes lingered as he studied the writing.

The familiar Cheshire grin reigned upon the Undertaker's face.

"Send them my love."

* * *

Earl Ciel Phantomhive could do nothing else but sigh and stare out through the carriage's windows. However, his patience wore thin. He had been frozen in that same position for a little more than two hours, and still, Sebastian did not give any indication that they were going to stop any time soon. If the Undertaker lied, Ciel was going to skin him alive. The young Earl did not appreciate having his time wasted.

Ciel was not familiar with the route. However, he did recognize the passing of River Thames, which took him by great surprise. It seems that their final destination was somewhere along the borders of Middlesex. However, when his vision was blinded by nothing but leaves, only illuminated by the sliver of light from the darkening sky, he could not contain his thoughts any longer.

In his irritated state, he pulled the lever of the hansom and slammed it open. Only then did he truly realize how fast his head butler had made the horses pull. Gripping the edge of the hansom, he poked his head out and yelled against the wind, "When the hell are we going to get there? At this rate, we'll never make it back in time to my estate! _And where the bloody hell are we?_"

Sebastian merely tilted his head in slight, his long, raven hair billowing, as he regarded his master with blank eyes and a deceiving, tight-lipped smile. "We are at the route that borders the county of Middlesex from Surrey," he said. Though he, too, was fighting the low groans of the passing wind, his collected voice could be heard without the slightest of problems.

"Why are we so far from London?" the Earl demanded, his grip on the passenger handlebar never faltering. He let a startled sound emit from the back of his throat when the carriage jumped just as it unexpectedly rolled over a rock that peeked from the dry, dirt road's cracks.

"I merely follow my master's orders," was Sebastian's simple, almost mocking reply as he turned to face the road ahead. Lifting his gloved hands higher, he snapped the leather reigns, thus causing the horses to gain pace. "I suggest my Lord to keep safe inside the hansom," he said with his characteristic, seemingly serene smile, "After all, we want the Young Master to retain his perfect health."

Ciel grumbled something incoherent before narrowing his eyes, but nevertheless reluctantly relenting to his head butler's advice. Before he closed the door completely, Sebastian said, "Please do not fret any longer, Master, for we have almost arrived. I beg you to maintain your patience, if only for a few moments."

True to his word, in a matter of minutes, the carriage was pulled to an abrupt halt, startling the young Earl, who was on the verge of falling asleep. The two horses whinnied, padding their hoofs on the dirt ground as their leather straps were pulled by the sturdy reigns.

Sebastian's eyes regarded the location with curiosity. Currently, the hansom was blocking a portion of the regal, iron gates of a large piece of land that stretched on for miles towards the south. Comparing it to the Phantomhive land property, Sebastian came to the conclusion that whoever owned this land was much higher regarding the noble rank. From where he sat atop of the carriage seat, the Head Butler was already able to see more than two estates inhabiting the land – and despite that, there was still a great area of grassland available.

His deep maroon irises scanning the front of the vast gardens of the estate's front, Sebastian was able to spot a young man trimming the nearby bushes, humming a soft tune to ease boredom. Impatient, the Head Butler pressed his curled index and thumb up to his pursed lips and screeched a whistle. The young brunette, undeniably startled, dropped the garden shears, and quickly turned his upper body to look for the source of the disturbance.

"U-uh," the freckled man stuttered, before waving a hand over his head in acknowledgement, "Hullo!" He hurriedly bent down to grab the shears and paced towards the gates. "Mista' Charles didn't inform me of any o' today's visi'ers," he panted once he reached them. "Is ra'er late to be havin' any."

"Am I correct in assuming this grand property to be Rosenfield Park?" said Sebastian evenly, his silky voice matching the impassionate smile upon his face.

"'Tis, indeed!" the gardener perked up with pride as he made to unlock the chains that held the sturdy, steel gates. "Sorry for no' preparin' sooner for your 'rival, Mista'. Terrible rude of me. Let me take your carriage to th' stables."

"Yes, thank you," said Sebastian impassively as he languidly leaped off from his seat, the bottom of his trench coat gracefully billowing along with his movements. The gardener stared at this being in slight awe.

Sebastian pulled the carriage door open. The first thing that came from the carriage was a black cane that touched the stable surface of the ground. The next was the short figure of Count Ciel Phantomhive, his astute figure radiating authority.

"Deeply 'pologize for no' bein' able ta' show you the propa' way to th' estate, Me Lord," said the gardener professionally, bowing in respect. Child or not, the employee could spot a person of high ranking. Unbeknownst to him, Sebastian's regard for the gardener raised dramatically by his display.

"It's fine," was Ciel's reply, "We can manage from here. Point us to the place of authority."

The gardener held the reigns of the hansom, patting one of the horses' heads with a slight smile. "Jus' keep followin' th' trail from here. It 'ull lead ya' up to the Gran' Manor, Me Lord."

Ciel nodded stiffly. "Very well."

And that was exactly what they did. The man's instructions were not so complicated to follow, seeing as a stoned trail lead to the ornate wood of the Grand Estate. And, indeed, it truly was grand. With polished stones decorating its exterior, lined by gothic-styled pillars of the thirteenth century, followed by the prettiest floral decorations of the season, it was worthy of its title. Earl Phantomhive's estate was close to comparing with the manor – however, the vastness of this property made it greater.

"Rosenfield Estate, you say?" inquired Ciel, briefly glancing at Sebastian through his peripheral as he pulled on the door bell's drooping handle.

"Yes," Sebastian responded readily, letting go of the handle when adequate. "This is the place directed by the Undertaker."

"Hm," his Master grunted shortly, slightly bewildered, "Why in the world would he send us to a march? I would have expected a sort of medical home from all that he was babbling on about."

"I see you are familiar with it," Sebastian remarked casually as they waited for a servant to open the double-doors.

Ciel scoffed. "Of course. It is renowned amongst the noble houses of Britain. Though, the Marquesses and Marchionesses are notorious for being, as they would say, 'standoffish.' They never seem to want anything to do with the social circle and refuse all invitations, including my own. However," he sighed, "we are required to invite them despite that due to their prestigious heritage."

The ornate doors were opened by a stiff-looking man with a clean-shaved face and grey, thinning hair. He wore the usual garb of a servant – pressed, black tailcoat with a tie and a vest with neat trousers to match. The shining pin glinting, almost hidden by his opened coat, was an indication that this man was regarded highly in rank amongst the household employees.

"I wish to speak to the highest authority of this estate," Earl Ciel said, his voice maintaining the steady beat of a nobleman.

The old man did not speak. He merely bowed and pressed his back onto the door, sweeping his hand towards the manor's interior – an indication that beckoned the guests inside.

The inside of the regal Grand Estate was nothing short of elegant. Just as the exterior, the interior harboured litters of classic antiques that all aristocratic families cherished due to the rich history as an heirloom. Glass vases were carefully placed, sheltering fresh flowers of different kinds. Marble floors polished well enough to be able to see one's perfect reflection from its tiles.

Lord Ciel Phantomhive valued generation's worth of antiques just as much as the next person, so he was most certainly a little impressed by the proper display of a Marquess' household. However, he was not too awed by it due to his common exposure as a nobleman to the parties of the fine socialites of noble society.

Once following the servant ascend upon a grand flight of stairs, he instantly led them to the east wing of the manor. The hallway they appeared in was wide, with displays of portraits clinging onto both walls. No doubt, they were those of the previous generations of the family.

"We are here," said the servant stiffly. He knocked on the wooden door once before opening it to the Phantomhive and leaving.

_A strange man_, Sebastian admonished internally as he stared after the servant with mild disapproval, _He did not behave properly for a servant._

Ciel stood still by the doorframe as his one visible blue eye examined the room with wary gaze. He expected to be lead to an office of sorts, but this place seemed to be more like a library than anything else. Wooden shelves were placed parallel from each other, books of different sizes aligned while some slots were open. The enclosed space was, indeed, vast. The only furniture that seemed out of place was a polished, mahogany desk littered with disheveled parchment and opened books and a leather chair that currently faced the opposite wall.

Earl Phantomhive decided to enter with Sebastian obediently following in tow. Their heels pattered against the floor's waxed marble.

"Vincent?" a woman's voice shattered the silence.

For a brief instant, Ciel's one visible eye widened with recognition. Vincent. _Father_. However, as quickly as it came, it disappeared in a flash, and the Head Butler's subtle smirk was the only evidence of his master's well-hidden emotions.

"I am Earl Ciel Phantomhive," he stated in a calm manner. His brief remembrance brought a new edge of steel in his voice, however.

The black leather chair turned slowly, almost indolently, to reveal a lady. The first note-worthy features that Ciel was able to distinguish were her eyes. Even when half-lidded, he was able to see a sparkle of crystal blue – not at all unlike his own. The next was her aristocratic facial features and refined complexion. It was obvious that this young woman was the kin of a nobleman.

Despite her rather elegant and dainty features, her whole attitude seemed to scream otherwise. Tilted on the seat, her chin was rested upon her gloved hand as her elbow was supported by the chair's arm. Her other hand held papers while her half-lidded eyes nonchalantly glanced their words. The most insulting of all was the fact that she barely looked up from her work to acknowledge the Earl.

Ciel cleared his throat, evidently irked. "I assume that you are related to the head of Rosenfield Park? I have come to gather information."

Silence. Parchment crunched as a leaf of page was thrown carelessly on the table's pile.

The Earl's eye twitched in obvious annoyance. This… this woman actually had the _gall_ to ignore him? One of Britain's most distinguished aristocrats?

Before Ciel could boil over in anger at the woman's disrespect, her eyes rolled up from the parchment to glance at his face, only to turn back to her work once again. And then, she sighed out, "No."

Ciel could not take it anymore. The Earl had to endure a four hour ride on a bumpy trail just to reach this foreign place. Hell, he had to endure the _Undertaker_. He was _tired_. He wished nothing more than to regain his strength and be back in a familiar place surrounded by the comfort of his manor – the only home he knew.

"What do you mean _no_?" he burst out, his face gaining a light shade of pink from the rushing blood. "I did not come all this way from London only to be sent away by some _girl_ that has no business with my affairs!"

From where he stood, Sebastian Michaelis saw the young woman's eyes flash in dismay and aggravation. Whatever her ill intentions were toward his Young Master, she washed it from her mind, for she seemed to be just as content with pretending that they did not exist. It seemed to make a rise out of the Earl than any other response she could have given.

The butler internally sighed at his master's temper. Did he not at all know how to win the good graces of a woman? With his impolite responses, they were going to get no where.

"_Master_," Sebastian politely intervened, his tone hinting a subtle warning.

Ciel's jaw clenched and unclenched. Just as the woman turned over to a new parchment, the Earl took a deep breath to regain his calm. There was no point in wasting time, but Sebastian was right – this ordeal would take longer with the wrong response.

"I was directed here," he began, "for information."

"Oh, without a proper note beforehand?" the woman said quietly, almost admonishingly flippant. "How terribly rude of you. The looks of an aristocrat with the manners of a brute. Colour me unimpressed."

Sebastian found that comment to be of his slight amusement upon seeing a vein pop visibly from his master's forehead.

"As I understand it," said the woman, slapping the pile of paper onto the desk. Her posture straightened and her curled fingers lightly rested on her cheek. Her crystal eyes pierced through the boy's face. She continued with a new voice of authority, "You were the one who so foolishly thought yourself welcome onto the property of the Belmonts. And now you barge into the Grand Estate demanding for information?"

Ciel's eyes narrowed and his voice was cold. "Who are _you_ to speak in such way to an earl?"

The girl's posture suddenly became slack and her voice once again regained its flippant, airy tone. With her attitude of authority gone, the only expression that can be described on her face was pure boredom. "Hm, no one of importance. I'm merely the housekeeper, Renadale Louise."

Now knowing his rank to be quite above that of this woman, the Earl's attitude became haughtier and demanding. "And yet you dare talk to Earl Phantomhive with such disrespect. I will personally see to it that you are gone from Rosenfield Park at once," he said menacingly.

"Yes, well, it would do you good to get out of _this_ manor, then," she muttered nonchalantly as she once again went back to her papers. Renadale Louise did not seem at all bothered by Earl Phantomhive's promised threat. "This 'figure of authority' that you are looking for is in the main estate – the one in the east. Tell them I sent you."

_What was the meaning of this? _That gardener specifically directed them toward the Grand Estate. Why was this woman, _Renadale_, suddenly pointing them elsewhere?

_Hm, no matter_, Ciel thought. _Leaving this manor will most likely be best to get actual information. Furthermore, I want to have the satisfaction of having this woman banished on the streets. _

Lifting his chin high in the air, he said to Sebastian, "We are leaving."

"Oh, yes. God rejoices," stated Renadale sardonically, spinning her chair to face the wall once again. "If you ever require my assistance, please rethink your decision and head the opposite direction."

Ciel clenched his teeth, glaring at that insolent woman from the side of his vision, before turning, with Sebastian following in tow.

"That-that wretch of a woman!" Ciel growled, tapping his cane forcefully onto the cobbled pathway that led towards the manor of the east. "Who the bloody hell does she think she is talking to?"

Sebastian laughed slightly at the expense of his master's irritation. "Yes, she was quite the character, was she not?"

"Speak nothing else of that ignorant girl. I won't hear of her anymore. I will be satisfied once knowing that I have set her in her rightful place," he stated darkly.

"Yes, my Lord."

The light of the previous had descended, the darkness wake in its place. Sebastian inaudibly sighed, for it seems that this sojourn had cost them quite some time. It was nowhere near completion as of yet.

The pathway was illuminated only by the dim glow of the light posts. However, it did nothing to fix the eerie aura that emanated from the whole of the estate. The Gothic architecture depicted the settings of an old, horror novel.

The entrance of the East Manor was slightly ajar, so Sebastian merely pushed it open for his master. With the elegance of a proper nobleman, Earl Phantomhive walked through with purpose, stopping once in the middle of the room.

The enclosed area was filled with bustling servants going in all directions, who all froze and became silent once they heard the door slam shut. Upon seeing the boy, a nobleman, the uniformed lot showed their respect through curtsies and bows.

Ciel glanced at Sebastian in confusion, as if asking, "Where in the world did that woman send us?" It was not common to find such disarray in a proper manor of a distinguished, aristocratic family.

A loud clap was heard from the top of the staircase, gaining the attention of all. A man clad in a pressed, black tailcoat glared around the room through his steel-rimmed spectacles before saying, "Please return to your duties."

When everybody else continued to bustle about the room, entering and exiting through doors, the man descended the stairs before ascending once again with Lord Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis in tow. Entering a spacious hallway, where silence was clearly valued, the young servant directed them toward the farthest room at the end of the hallway.

The room was not at all as grand and lavish as the previous library they had encountered. In fact, the whole East Manor did not at all fit the expectations of an aristocratic estate compared to the Grand Estate.

"Please, sit down," the man said.

Ciel accepted the man's offer, finding himself tired after his rather trying day. Sebastian merely stood beside his master's chair, stiffly following his duty as a Phantomhive butler.

The man cleared his throat as he stood behind a wooden desk before bowing before Earl Phantomhive. In his slightly low, posh lilt, he said, "I apologize deeply concerning all the trouble my Lord may have experienced during his visit at the Belmont Estate. I fear of the possibility that our service may not have qualified my Lord's expectations."

"Now that you mention it," Ciel drawled irritably, "There is that horrid housekeeper. Renadale Louise, I believe. I want her gone."

The man, behind his thin spectacles, blinked in surprise, before pushing his glasses further upon the bride of his nose.

"R-Renadale Louise sent you here?" he said, sounding a bit baffled.

"That is what I said, is it not?" said Ciel. He was very close to snapping.

The man closed his eyes and sighed before shaking his head slightly. Finally opening his eyes to reveal hazel irises, he then said blankly, "I'm afraid I have no choice, then. I'm sincerely sorry for doing this, but I regret to inform that you are not welcome here in the Belmont Estate."

Lord Ciel's eyes narrowed at the man. He did not make any move from his position on the seat. "May I enquire as to why?" he bit out through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, but I am afraid her word is law," said the man, equally stiff, as his stare was directed towards the front.

"A housekeeper's word over mine?" Ciel snapped, stiffly jumping from his seated position. "Do you not know who I am? I am Lord Phantomhive! A mindless, insolent wretch with an unknown name cannot possibly have proper authority to drive me away."

"I'm afraid that this _insolent wretch_, in fact, does," the man quickly quipped, his voice suddenly turning harsh and cold, "Forgive me for being forward, Sir, but it is you who is, as you say, _mindless._"

Ciel, in utter outrage, made a movement to respond in fury. However, the servant continued. Were all the servants of the Belmont family this utterly _diluted_ with bad manners?

"I will bear your insults upon my staff and myself with silence and acceptance, but I will not tolerate any disrespect towards the head of the entire Rosenfield Park," he strictly stated, his hands clasped behind his back formally.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ciel yelled as he took a furious step forward.

Sebastian could only watch the scene with impassive, garnet eyes.

"The _wretch_, 'Renadale Louise,' as she called herself, is no other than _Marchioness_ Cecilia Belmont, also acknowledged by all as the head of the Belmont family by name," he continued stiffly.

Lord Phantomhive's visible eye narrowed, his face twitching, as his pale cheeks suddenly reddened with embarrassment and utter humiliation. That would explain the woman's attitude and seemingly natural ability to capture the attention of the entire room.

It seems that Ciel managed to taint the good image of the Phantomhive family.

"I am going to have to ask you to leave," the servant repeated. "If you would follow me, I will personally escort you out."

Ciel took this time to divert his eyes towards his butler. "_Sebastian_," he said commandingly. Lord Phantomhive came all of this way. He was not about to be sent off without getting what he wanted – _not in his game_.

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian said, allowing himself an amused smile. Turning his attention to the Belmont servant, his ruby eyes flashed against the fire's light and he feigned politeness, "We of the Phantomhive Estate deeply apologize for the inconvenience, but you must understand from the manner of our sudden arrival that our situation is that of the utmost urgency. Surely, you must have heard of the rather disturbing incident concerning the body snatcher of London?"

The man, however, did not sway from his resolve. "I'm afraid I have," he merely replied stiffly. Pushing his glasses towards the bridge of his nose, he continued, "And that is a misfortune. However, by Lady Belmont's response to your situation of sending you to the servant's mansion, it is clear that she wants nothing to do with it."

Sebastian frowned. He had to applaud the man for his rather bull-headed resolve. However, he did not have the time, nor the patience, for that matter, to exchange poetry. It was imperative, judging by his Young Master's frustrated expression, to speak to Lady Cecilia Belmont.

"I don't think you understand," he said silkily. "You see, it was the Undertaker who directed us towards the home of the Belmonts."

From where he stood, the servant suddenly turned his head and regarded them curiously through his spectacles with curious, hazel eyes. "The Undertaker?"

Sebastian merely replied with a small, close-eyed smile.

For once since the time they had met the Belmont servant, the man seemed to be conflicted. Giving off a heavy sigh through his nose, he resigned. "I… I suppose Lady Cecilia will understand."

The Phantomhive butler placed his gloved hand lightly upon his chest and nodded his head in appreciation.

The servant cleared his throat and kept his posture stiff, his right arm bent behind his back. With formality, he said, "I apologize most profoundly for my rather ardent display moments earlier regarding our Lady. It is not my place to expose my Lord to such insult."

"No, it is not," said Ciel coolly, the grip on his cane's handle not once faltering.

"Again, I apologize a thousand times over," he repeated in a softer tone, bowing lowly. "My name is Dante Larson. I will show you to Lady Belmont's study."

And, once again, Earl Phantomhive and Head Butler Michaelis found themselves walking through the rather familiar, dark corridor of the Grand Estate. That woman, Marchioness Cecilia Belmont, was, indeed, leading the young Count around Rosenfield Park in a goose chase.

The servant, Dante, knocked on the large, ornate door of the library-like room of Lady Belmont's study.

"Come in," was the muffled reply.

"Please wait here as I explain the current situation to my Lady," said Dante quietly before he turned the golden knob and pushed the door open. He left the door slightly ajar.

"This _woman_," Ciel groaned in frustration as he rubbed the side of his face. "She was infuriating the first time. What makes you think that she will be more cooperative now?"

"I have reasons to believe that the Undertaker's name is regarded highly in the Belmont Estate from the way that servant Dante reacted. After all, my mentioning it quickly broke down his resolve and he finally acquiesced to my Lord's request."

"My Lady, Count Phantomhive wishes to speak to you," Dante stiffly stated, avoiding glancing at Cecilia directly and, instead, kept his eyes straight forward.

Cecilia, in turn, did not at all seem bothered. In fact, she made no indication that suggested so. She merely continued with her previous action of sipping tea and turning the page leaves of the leather-bound book that lay on the writing desk.

Once setting down the piece of fine Doccia porcelain, she regarded Dante with her bright blue eyes and blinked before saying, "Isn't it a bit late to be having guests?"

Ciel was more than a bit surprised as he heard the tone of the Lady's voice, having encountered her earlier in such an irritable and intolerable mood.

"Apologies, my Lady. The Earl insists on your presence immediately," he said. By the sound of soft rumpling of clothing, Sebastian could tell that Dante was bowing.

"No need to explain, Dante," said Cecilia as she became preoccupied with the page. "Charles once again misplaced an urgent telegraph – as it were, the Undertaker has taken it upon himself to message me. Quite the play of events, wouldn't you say? I expected him to have left, and was about to send a telegraph in the morning."

"Indeed, my Lady. Regarding Mr. Charles, I will inform Sir Belmont at once-"

"Do not fret. I spoke to Grandfather, and we agreed that you should continue your duties as the footman."

"Understood."

"Please show the Earl and his butler inside the drawing room. We have business to discuss."


	3. Sapphire and Garnet

_Welcome to Phantasmagoric Theatre. _

Well. Here it is. This mainly focuses on the first interaction with Sebastian and Cecilia.

_**Chapter fanart link on my profile~**_

**Disclaimer:** Give the credit to Yana Toboso.

* * *

"Delightful, is it not?" she breathed in wonder, her sharp, blue gaze unusually soft.

It was apparent that Lord Ciel Phantomhive did not share the young Marchioness' opinion. In fact, he seemed more aggravated than anything. His frustration was justified, for he had been sent on a wild goose chase from the bustling city of London, four hours from Rosenfield Park, and then was left there to feel the hostility of the head Belmont.

At the moment, he wished nothing more than for this current case regarding the children kidnappings and the corpse-snatching to go and hang itself so he could leave and finally rest. However, he knew it all to be hopeless and his prayers will go unanswered – given the current time, Earl Phantomhive was almost certain that it would be wiser to stay at a local hotel for the night rather than to travel. He did not think that he had the patience to deal with all of this madness.

"The best of Ginori porcelain," Cecilia Belmont sighed with content before she turned from her inspection of the tea cup and took a sip from it. Her brows then furrowed and the corners of her mouth turned down slightly in displeasure. "Lukewarm."

Ciel had to take a deep breath to calm himself – to strengthen the thin thread holding his patience, if only just a little. Cecilia seemed to be trying his patience on purpose, however, as if to see how much it took for the thread to finally snap.

Apparently hearing the young Earl's movement, Lady Cecilia Belmont motioned for the head footman Dante Larson to serve the guests some tea. He obliged with a bow.

"You presented yourself with an alias," Earl Phantomhive began curtly. He was not a fan of being deceived.

"'What is in a name?'" she instantly uttered, setting down the tea cup. Without bothering to look up from the pages of her desk, she recited, "'That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'"

His eye twitched. "You are trying my patience, Lady Belmont," said the Earl through clenched teeth. "I suggest you give me what I came here for."

"You better watch yourself, Phantomhive, for you are in my property tonight." Her words bared no ill will – on the contrary, they were said with such nonchalance.

"Is that a threat?" he said coldly, his one visible eye narrowing.

"No," the Lady uttered with a slight shrug, brushing off his hostile tone. "Consider it a friendly warning from me to you."

The Earl's stiff posture did not relax. His gaze merely intensified as he glared daggers at the _insolent wretch_ in front of him. It seems that Sebastian was wrong – this girl was as difficult to handle as she was before.

"I demand your respect," the Earl uttered stonily, his gaze never once faltering.

At this, Cecilia's cold, piercing eyes lifted from the parchment that lay on her desk to the young Earl before her. For a moment, she scrutinized him, until finally, she seemed to lose interest and merely resorted to gazing once again at the items on her desk. This seemed to only fuel the Count's anger.

When the Marchioness spoke, it lacked the hostility that her blue eyes held. "Seeing as you have done nothing to earn it, you will not receive it."

"I do the favor of returning sentiments," Ciel replied coolly, clasping his hands together upon his knee.

The Earl saw the Marchioness' lip twitch upwards in slight – from annoyance or from amusement, he did not know. A tense silence ensued between them.

The Lady studied the young Earl with a steely gaze. Finally, Cecilia spoke, her voice appraising, her blue eyes twinkling, "Very good, Earl. You have my attention."

Ciel felt a small sense of childish triumph. He smirked.

Lady Cecilia aligned the stack of parchment and then set it aside before she brought her hands before her on the table. "I suppose I should be sorry for lying to you about my identity. I do my best to protect the welfare of my march – being an earl, you must understand. I cannot welcome strangers in risk of my ward's safety."

"Indeed."

"Very well," she said smoothly, "Earl Phantomhive, what is your business in the House of Belmont?"

Ciel wasted no time in addressing the issue. "The Undertaker told me that you would know information regarding the missing children."

"Commonplace information," Cecilia responded coolly, shrugging. Her expression gave away nothing. "I do not concern with issues beyond the Belmont name without proper incentive."

At the Marchioness' response, the Earl's eyes narrowed. "Are you expecting pay?"

Cecilia merely laughed. However, Ciel could not help but note that her laugh sounded hollow – much like Sebastian's. The Earl's one visible cerulean eye narrowed, scrutinizing the young woman's face. It was obvious that she was only doing this to keep up appearances. Appearances for _what_, though? Was she merely following the proper etiquette as a noblewoman?

"Don't be foolish," she replied, a small, wan smile present on her lips, "Consider my minor debt to the Undertaker repaid."

"Then answer the question," he said forcefully.

"I told you, I only know commonplace information," she sighed. "I'm not even sure why the Undertaker sent you here."

"_What?"_ the irritable Earl hissed, leaning forward on the armchair. "He said you would know something about their blood work!"

At his words, the Lady's attention piqued in interest. "Blood, you say?"

"Sebastian, we've wasted our time," Ciel muttered darkly.

"The Undertaker _did_ send me a peculiar sample of blood," Cecilia said thoughtfully, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. For the first time since their encounter, Lady Belmont's expression was serene.

"Then why did you not say so before?"

Cecilia's eyebrow rose. Her expression gave nothing away, though her eyes revealed a bit of amusement. "We should continue this tomorrow. Then perhaps your attitude would be more… agreeable."

"You will not send me away!" Ciel snapped, standing up, "I have come this far already!"

"Pray, quiet your voice, Ciel. Your shrieks will wake up the entire household."

"And that's _Lord_ Phantomhive to you!"

"Excuse my Master, Marchioness Belmont," Sebastian intervened calmly, a feigned smile carved on his lips. "We have come all the way from the heart of Middlesex. My Lady must understand."

"Of course," Cecilia brushed off.

"Perhaps Master should take Lady Belmont's well-meant guidance and wait until the morning to continue business."

Ciel stared at Sebastian's polished, close-eyed smile and prepared his protests in outrage, but the Head Butler once again intervened, "I will go to the closest town and rent a room for the night."

"Don't be silly," Lady Cecilia sighed quietly. Though her eyes were scanning the pages of a thin book that she grabbed from the bookshelf behind her, Cecilia's full attention was on the interaction of the Earl and his Butler. "I will have Dante prepare a room for you here at the Grand Estate. I will have your butler's room prepared at the servant's quarters here as well for convenience."

The Earl was once again going to protest, but one look into the garnet eyes of his dark, mischievous Head Butler and all of his complaints evaporated. Instead, he smirked.

"I appreciate your hospitality, Lady Belmont," he said instead.

Cecilia's eyes strayed from the book and narrowed at the Earl slightly. However, it was gone before Ciel could even confirm that it was there.

"I will send the valet to your room to help you prepare for the night."

"That won't be necessary," Ciel said calmly. "I lay my trust on no one other than Sebastian."

Cecilia eyed the smiling butler before saying, "Very well. Dante – please lead our guests to their respective rooms."

"Yes, my Lady," Dante's reply was instantaneous. He set down the Doccia tea set by the drawer with obvious care before walking over to stand by the doorway. "Does Lady Cecilia require anything else tonight?"

"Thank you, Dante. That will be all. I wish you a pleasant night," she said softly, her gaze not straying from the book's page.

"Always," he responded with a bow. Once straightening his posture, Footman Dante Larson resumed his duty and stiffly addressed the Earl. "Please follow me."

"I wish you a good night, _Lord_ Ciel."

* * *

"I trust you know what to do next, Sebastian?"

"Yes, my Lord," the Butler replied calmly, buttoning up the spare night gown offered by the Belmont Footman. Now prepared for bed, Sebastian pulled the covers of the large bed for Ciel.

"Good," he whispered, his eyes already half-lidded. The trying day had, indeed, gotten the best of him, and he could no longer fight the urge to rest. And soon enough, the young Earl was already unconscious.

And only when the ornate door closed did Sebastian Michaelis allow his expression to depict his true emotion – annoyance. This little sojourn had cost them quite some time – indeed, enough to have set him back a day of his routinely schedule. _Oh dear_, he could only imagine the trouble those three imbeciles left for him back at the Phantomhive Estate.

Sebastian let out a sigh. Well, he could not do anything about it now. First and foremost, he would be at the beck and call of his master.

The Demon's eyes opened, revealing a set of deep, garnet eyes. The matching ruby irises flashed briefly against the eerie glow of the candlelight.

Instead of tracing Dante Larson's instructions that would lead towards the location of the Grand Estate's servant's quarters, Head Butler Sebastian Michaelis simply retraced his steps and made his way towards the Belmont Library. His lip twitched slightly into a smirk.

It was time for work.

* * *

By the time he arrived at the familiar door of the lavish library, the artificial lights provided previously have already dimmed, as Sebastian expected, and only the flickering flame of his candelabra made things visible for the human eye.

Crimson eyes narrowed slightly as keen retinas inspected the dark corridors. _Desolate._

The simple truth of the matter was that Head Butler Sebastian Michaelis did not at all require a light source in order to see. The darkness did not obscure his vision in the slightest – in fact, he would go so far as to say that his vision excelled in the shadows compared to the light. He only kept the flame alive to avoid suspicion as to why he was lingering around the House of Belmont shrouded in complete darkness, in the unlikely scenario that a servant were to pass him by.

With that observation in mind, Sebastian laid his glowed fingers on the polished knob, twisted, and pulled.

Needless to say, the Demon was surprised.

"Butler," Marchioness Cecilia Belmont greeted.

Sebastian internally cursed. This unfortunate encounter was either brought by his damned luck or his carelessness. He had not seen the dim glow of the dying coals of the fireplace. _Elementary mistake._

"Lady Belmont," Sebastian uttered, the feigned lilt of worry and relief coating his voice. A quick lie was already prepared at the tip of his tongue. "I apologize for the impropriety of my bothering you," he said before giving his customary bow. Fixing his expression to that of seeming serenity, he continued, "But it seems that I, once again, found myself lost. I was unable to find Mr. Larson."

"Yes," Cecilia said offhandedly, eyeing the butler with narrowed eyes. "As you recall, I sent him away."

"If my Lady would be so kind as to direct me towards the proper direction, I shall relieve her of my presence," he said with a polished smile, humbly placing his hand on his chest.

Cecilia was merely content with staring at him. In truth, it unnerved Sebastian, if only slightly. Her blue gaze was piercing, and he was not familiar with the scrutiny of another who did not do it for the sake of sensual pleasure. However, his garnet gaze did not waver.

Finally, Lady Belmont spoke. "No," she said.

Sebastian blinked. "Pardon me?"

"No," Cecilia repeated with the tone of simplicity. Pushing her book aside by the edge of the wooden table, the noblewoman folded her gloved hands together and inclined slightly on her leather chair. "You will join me for a cup of tea."

At the Belmont's words, Sebastian's suspicions were confirmed – she was aware of his intentions. Though despite that, the Head Butler obliged. After all, what position did he have to deny the wishes of a Marchioness?

"As you wish," he said, before making his way towards the small silver tray that held together the proper materials for tea. However, to his surprise, Cecilia stood up from her seat and made to prepare the tea herself.

"My Lady," Sebastian intervened, stepping forward to relieve her of her duty, "Please, allow me-"

"Don't think me to be an incompetent fool, Butler," Cecilia chided, her eyes not once straying from the tea she poured on the cup. "Please, sit down. I-" – she smirked – "I insist."

Reluctantly, Sebastian allowed it and adjusted the fit of his black tailcoat – an article of clothing clearly made for standing. He then made to sit on the armchair inhabited by Lord Phantomhive only a few hours previously.

Though he was a demon, Sebastian preformed his duty as a Phantomhive butler well, and leaving a high-ranking noblewoman to serve a beverage to a lowly butler was an odd sight in itself. He found himself feeling slightly uncomfortable in Lady Cecilia Belmont's presence.

Sebastian made sure to keep his facial expression neutral, though his eyes never strayed from the minor details of her actions. So far, the Head Butler had not been able to predict her movements.

Accepting the porcelain cup graciously with humble acknowledgement, Sebastian's suspicious, garnet eyes continued its scrutiny. If Cecilia had caught his stare, she did not show it. Instead, she simply blew on the tea cup's rim and resumed her previous position behind the desk.

"Let us drop the pretenses, Butler," she began coolly, her voice staying in one steady pitch. She set aside the warm beverage and folded her hands together once again. "Tell me what you want."

_Business. _Despite what she made them think during their previous encounter, Marchioness Cecilia Belmont was not one for idle chatter.

Sebastian gave a slight chuckle, quietly sipping the steaming beverage that he recognized to be white tea judging by the subtle trace of sweetness. Had he been human, the sharp, burning sensation would have had him flinching. However, his pain tolerance as a demon was quite immeasurable in scale.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, my Lady," Sebastian said, feigning politeness. However, there was an under layer of mocking in his tone.

The Marchioness evidently caught his sardonic mocking, for her amethyst eyes were narrowed in a glare for a mere second. However, her expression quickly turned back to neutral.

"As I said, don't think me to be an incompetent fool," she sighed. She tilted her head slightly and rested her cheek on her gloved hand. With feigned bored, half-lidded eyes, she said, "For the Earl to have calmed so quickly would mean he had a plan of action – most likely, to ransack my workroom for information." She sighed once again, this one out of exasperation, "What an impatient child."

Sebastian merely kept silent, the polished, close-lipped smile still on his face. No, he would not deny the accusation. There would be no point – it was the truth, after all.

"Earl Phantomhive obviously does not trust me," she said calmly, "but I assure you that I have nothing to gain by lying. As I said, my assisting you in your little… _venture_ is my way of returning a favor for an old friend. If you do not believe my words, then at least trust that the Undertaker is reliable enough not to stray you in your small journey to find the truth."

Sebastian simply nodded. He had come to the same conclusion previously, though had no choice but to obey his master's command. Though the Undertaker was very queer, he had not once been wrong regarding the Underworld's information.

However, he could not deny that he still held reservations against the young Marchioness. After all, she went through such lengths to keep him from ransacking through the information of the Belmont Library. If what she said was true and she really had nothing to hide, then why was she being so cautious?

In retrospect, it was, of course, understandable to be wary of a stranger – whether it be Sebastian of Cecilia or Cecilia of Sebastian. However, the Head Butler could not help but there was more to the situation that simple wariness of strangers.

Through his vast peripheral vision, Sebastian studied the large room's contents. The Belmont Library was, indeed, large and filled with varieties of literature form all different eras and culture. However, what caught his interest in particular were the books neatly aligned on the bookshelf behind Cecilia Belmont's leather chair.

_Clavicula Salamonis, Lesser Key of Solomon_…

Noticing the Butler's attention divert, Cecilia enquired curiously, "Pray, what is it that has kept your full attention?"

Snapping from his reverie, Sebastian's garnet eyes then went back to Cecilia. With his usual, insincere, close-eyed smile in its rightful place, he then said politely, "Forgive me for being too bold, but I could not help but notice my Lady's curious choices regarding literature." His eyes flashed briefly as he saw the demonic symbol of one of the book's leather spines. "Very… _morbid_."

"Oh, is it?" Cecilia brushed offhandedly, casting an uninterested gaze behind her. However, her attention was clearly wrapped around the butler's words. "I had not noticed."

"Of course, it is hardly to be expected from such a distinguished family as the Belmonts."

For a moment, Cecilia stared at the Butler. _Flattery_. He obviously wanted something. It was perhaps best if Cecilia were to play along.

"And what exactly have you heard about us Belmonts?"

"Merely tales and legends," he replied, his seemingly polite smile not once faltering. "Though, I have wondered which were real and which were not."

Marchioness Belmont's crystal eyes narrowed slightly. Her fingers clasping tighter around one another, she said stiffly, "I'm afraid that I am keeping you. A butler's duty starts early, as I have been told, and you have Lord Phantomhive to look after. It would be best to ask what is required."

The corner of the demon's lip twitched slightly into a smirk. He had come to a valid conclusion, then. The information that Cecilia was so avid on keeping regarded the ancient name of the Belmont family. "_Old skeletons in the closet,"_ if you will.

"Very well, my Lady," he said, setting down the cup of tea. "I must obtain the blood work's information."

Cecilia's head tilted slightly. "I'm afraid I've yet to find full information myself. To avoid redundancy, tell me what the Undertaker has told you, and I shall do my best to add my knowledge."

Cecilia Belmont seemed to be more compliant that she was before. Sebastian figured that she most likely is getting straight to the point in order to get rid of him quicker. Sparing a quick glance at the grandfather clock nearby, he did not have the time to dilly-dally, either. He must finish the job.

He cleared his throat, his voice strictly professional. "As my Lady must have heard, an unknown illness has been spreading amongst adolescents between the ages of ten to eighteen. We have yet to know of the details. However, the Undertaker informed my Lord of an invading toxin in the bloodstream that causes premature rotting within the inside."

Cecilia's brow raised in surprise. "Really? Dear, he never mentioned that vital detail. My knowledge only goes as far as the blood work is concerned."

It seems that the Undertaker is enigmatic with everyone.

"He is right, of course," said Cecilia, her tone suddenly solemn, "the toxins are the main cause of disruption – fatal. At the moment, I am having a friend extract the poison and study its scientific compound. I am afraid I am of no further help until I receive word from him."

"I see. Thank you very much for your time," said Sebastian. "Our arrival certainly was unexpected, and for that, I apologize most profoundly in behalf of Lord Phantomhive. Does my Lady know of anything more?"

"Other than the fact that the blood rapidly produces infected cells at an alarming rate, I'm afraid I do not. Until I receive results from London, I can only say that the cells have been severely tampered with." She gave a tired sigh, seeing the importance of the entire ordeal. She muttered quietly, "I've never seen anything like it.

"Whatever it is Lord Phantomhive is dealing with…" she trailed off, her eyes focusing on the wall.

In truth, Marchioness Cecilia Belmont knew only as far as Lord Ciel Phantomhive regarding the situation of the illness. Though she did not concern herself with the affairs of the criminal underworld, for the Undertaker to have trusted her enough to give her samples of the blood work must mean that she specializes in that area – or, at least, have reliable connections.

"You have wasted your time in coming here, Butler," Cecilia said after a small sip of tea. "I have no useful information right now. I actually planned on visiting London next week, so my meeting with Lord Phantomhive would have been inevitable. I would have had what you wanted by then."

Head Butler Sebastian gazed at her with impassive, garnet eyes – this time, with open question. Never mind the fact that a woman was running a march, even if it was only by name. It was unusual for a noblewoman to involve in a gory scandal such as the case of the snatchings and kidnappings – the late Madam Red had been one of the few exceptions. It would have been pure controversy had it been a nobleman of fine society, but for a _woman_, it was simply _unheard_ of.

"Lady Belmont, if you do not mind my inquiring…" Sebastian trailed off. Cecilia remained silent, and that was enough of an incentive. "Why is it that the Undertaker sent my Lord Phantomhive to the house of Belmont, of all places?"

"I suppose you can say that this is my specialty," she said quietly.

Then, Cecilia smiled ruefully, gazing at the opposite wall. "I imagine your Lord Phantomhive would be rather irritated by my lack of information."

Sebastian merely chuckled at the prospect. Yes, he would be rather furious – Ciel would most likely complain about the Marchioness' insolence and for the precious time wasted. "Indeed."

"Worry not, Butler," she said simply, tapping her fingertips leisurely. "Lord Hargreaves will have my data sent by tomorrow morning through mail."

Sebastian smiled politely. "I see," he said. It appeared that it was not mere coincidence that Lady Belmont sent off Earl Phantomhive.

"Now," she said, "Off to bed you go, Butler. Sebastian, was it?"

"Head Butler of the Phantomhive household Sebastian Michaelis at your service, Lady Belmont," he introduced diplomatically, swiftly standing from his seat and resting his hand gently on his chest before giving a bow.

"Yes, well, Head Butler, do you need me to show you the way to the Servant's Quarters? Seeing as you are, as you say, _lost_?"

Cecilia's expression was blank, though it was evident that she was mocking the Phantomhive servant.

"That will not be necessary, my Lady," Sebastian said with a polished, close-lipped smile, his words equally mocking. "It seems that your lovely company has refreshed my memory, and I find myself able to make my way from here on out."

"Is that so?" she drawled sardonically, her attention returning once again to her book.

"Indeed. I wish Lady Belmont a pleasant night."

"Consider your sentiments returned, Mr. Michaelis."

And then the Marchioness and the Butler parted ways.


End file.
